


Vastayan Magic

by Leovwin



Category: League of Legends
Genre: League of Legends lore, Rakan the Charmer - Freeform, Vastaya, pre-Xayah/Rakan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17538908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leovwin/pseuds/Leovwin
Summary: Your life will never be the same again after you have witnessed this Lhotlan battle dancer perform. He will put you under a spell you cannot fight.





	Vastayan Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Everything you might recognise belongs to the lore of League of Legends and Riot.

Rakan meticulously washed and groomed every single one of his magnificent feathers the colour of the glorious morning sun before taking a last look at himself in the mirror and showing his teeth in a wide grin. He did not have many possessions but that was how he liked it. He did not need much while traveling from village to village on his quest for fame and entertainment.

He pranced through the streets of this particular village he had found himself in, his satchel on his back, pirouetted around corners now and then when he could feel someone's eyes on him. And how could they not look? He was magnificent!

Soon he reached the crowed market place of the village. Perfect. Enough onlookers. He circled the square once to determine which the best spot would be. Outstanding. There was a lamp post located with few other obstacles around. The view here was not obscured by shops and houses. He would wait another few minutes until the sun would begin to set. It would be all the more stunning to see his colourful plumage with the radiant sun behind him, bathing him in blazing gold.

People were already beginning to gather around him. He had performed the night before, albeit in a different spot. But people remembered and were greedy for more. And how could they not remember him? Among a sea of grey beards and plain youngsters, how could you forget this memorable sight. How Rakan pitied these simple people. They all looked alike to him, their clothes - rags in some cases - were hanging lifelessly off their shoulders and the only time their boring faces seemed to light up was when they looked at him. They needed him!

Rakan rolled his shoulders to prepare his muscles for the performance. He could feel the magic starting to tingle in his fingertips as he was stretching his neck. Excitement was slowly beginning to boil up in the pit of his stomach. A last sweep with his hands through his hair and he got up. He only had to make one flamboyant bow to make the crowd cheer. Long, fast strides brought him up to speed. Like an ethereal glimmer he flashed, jumped up in the air, turned and landed. Applause was ringing in his ears. They twitched in pleasure. His feet danced on the cobblestone floor, creating a blurred shimmer. In a flurry of feathers he twirled around the lamp post, circling all the way to the top. The magic erupted, carrying him higher, turning and twisting. Rakan was a beacon before the burning sky. A spark of fire flittering before the glowing embers of the setting sun. More graceful than any bird known to man, lean but stronger than the gods they worshipped, too sinfully enticing to be an angel. When he was flying through the sky, time stood still. 

Just before he let go of the magic to land, Rakan looked over the crowd, pleased by the masses, their mouths agape, tears in their eyes. But what caught his eye was the smallest gleam of a feather. A dark figure rushing through the shadows to the mansion.

And the moment was gone.

Rakan was among the people again. Whistles, screams and shouts, gasps and sighs reached his ears when he bowed once more. He settled on the boulder next to the lamp post and cleared his throat. All eyes were on him when he started to sing and slowly dance the ancient steps of the old vastayan song. The audience was entranced. After he had made their blood boil with excitement, he was now drawing their tears and touching on their emotions, even though they could not understand what he was singing about. His clear, sweet baritone was enough to move even the strongest warrior's heart. They would never be the same again. Their eyes followed the slow steps, weighed down by history they knew nothing about. Words fell upon their ears and they did not understand where the sorrow was coming from. How could they ever know that it was them, their race, to have caused this agony. Their small minds would never be able to grasp the meaning of the words he was singing. But it was of no consequence. One day they would remember. One day the Vastaya would return in all their glory and the humans would cower in fear of their magic. 


End file.
